Rest
by katierosefun
Summary: After running himself down to the point of exhaustion, Peter Parker is unsurprisingly sick. Tony Stark teaches him how to rest. [Post-Endgame]


Tony heard Peter's breath give out a second sooner than usual, which was the only reason why Peter didn't plummet off the roof of the hundred-story skyscraper.

The day had been a long and exhausting one—some lunatics had stolen a bunch of firearms and decided to have a field day of shooting through the streets. And although Tony had promised Pepper that _enough was enough_ and that he was retired forever after the Thanos incident, only one alert from FRIDAY (and then Karen) about a certain teenage boy with a rising temperature running after the gang had Tony suiting up almost instantly.

"The idiot's sick," Tony had explained to Peter before he left. "And he's trying to save the day, and he's going to get hurt if someone doesn't stop him."

"That someone being you?"

"That someone being me," Tony affirmed.

"Who's the idiot?" Morgan had asked innocently. She had been watching the whole argument between her parents with great interest, one hand clutching a spoonful of cereal and the other supporting her tired head.

"Peter Parker," Tony answered just as Pepper chided, "Don't say idiot." Pepper had turned to Tony then, and heaving a sigh, only said, "Be careful."

And after Tony had reassured Pepper that he wouldn't get himself killed, he had rushed off to Queens. He found Peter almost right away—not too hard to look for a shining streak of red and blue zooming through the city with the help of webbing material—and despite the kid's protests that "I've got it under control, Mr. Stark!", Tony stayed.

Which is why Tony now was hoisting a half-dazed Peter Parker back onto the roof before the kid could fall to his death.

"Peter!" Tony shook Peter. He didn't need an AI to tell him how sick Peter was—Tony could feel the heat radiating off of Peter, even through the suit. Still, because specifics were important, Tony commanded, "Karen, temperature."

"102.7 degrees," Karen replied promptly.

Tony swore under his breath.

"'s not that bad," Peter mumbled, blearily opening his eyes. He shifted in Tony's grip, but even that small movement alone seemed to drain whatever strength he had left.

"Where's your aunt?" Tony asked.

"Out," Peter replied. "Business." He pushed a hand over his face. "She'll be back…" A breeze passed through the building, and Peter shivered and swayed with the air. Tony tightened his grip on Peter, fear striking through him as the boy seemed to teeter right over the edge again.

"Come on," Tony said, quickly bringing Peter away from the end of the roof. "We need to get you rested up."

"Sounds good," Peter mumbled, and he lifted his head up to Tony. "Just…give me a second." And then Peter promptly crashed into Tony's front.

"Peter?" Tony rocked backwards on impact, moving his hands up to Peter's shoulders. "Kid, you with me?" But Peter's head only lolled around in response. Something cold settled in Tony's stomach as he took in—for the first time—the sweat dripping down Peter's cheeks, the flushed pink of a fever in Peter's otherwise too pale face. Tony didn't have to press a hand to Peter's forehead to know he would probably find it too hot for comfort.

"Dammit, kid," Tony muttered under his breath, but of course, Peter didn't respond. Tony would have to call Peter's aunt later, he knew that, but right now, the kid needed help. A place to rest. Actual adults making sure the kid didn't go saving the stupid city again.

Hoping he wasn't disturbing Peter too much from his probably much-needed rest, Tony gathered the boy in his arms. Trying to carry Peter took a little re-adjusting and a little bit of grunting, but Tony finally managed to have Peter's head resting on Tony's forearm while his other arm supported the back of Peter's legs. Even despite the heat of both Tony's and his own suit, Peter shivered, folding his body closer together in just the slightest.

"FRIDAY, call Pepper," Tony instructed, making sure Peter wasn't about to roll out of his arms. Securing Peter closer to his chest, Tony shot into the air. He half-expected Peter to wake up from the sudden jolt of movement, but to both his relief and ever-growing concern, the boy remained asleep.

"Tony?" Pepper's voice crackled through Tony's earpiece. "Is everything okay?"

"Peter's sicker than I thought," Tony replied. "And his aunt's out of town. I'm bringing him over."

"Right, of course," Pepper said. Tony heard some shuffling in the background and then, "How bad is he?"

"Bad." Tony glanced down at Peter. His eyes still hadn't opened. "He almost fell off a building. Fever of nearing one-oh-three."

"My God."

"I know," Tony said. "Just…everything's already prepped in Peter's room, right?" He already knew the answer—technically, 'Peter's room' was just a guest room, but Peter had already gotten back into the habit of visiting Tony over the weekends again, and the guest room had been formerly converted into Peter's bedroom.

"Always," came Pepper's answer. "I'll just let Morgan know to not…attack Peter when you two come."

Almost instantly, Tony heard Morgan cry from somewhere in the background, "Peter's coming?"

"Well, now she knows," Pepper sighed. "We'll be waiting for you."

"Just a few more minutes," Tony said, and after exchanging "love you"s, he glanced back down at Peter. Even despite the wind whistling past as Tony sped Peter and himself past the roads and trees, he could have sworn he heard even the softest of whines coming from Peter.

"Almost there," Tony said, and he knew that was stupid, talking aloud like that—Peter couldn't hear him, but a part of Tony wished the boy would and could. "Just a little while longer, kid."

That little while longer only lasted another minute and a half, but to Tony, it felt like another small eternity before he landed in front of the lake house. Pepper instantly ran out, ushering Tony inside with the same worried eyes he always knew. Morgan sat at the stairs, her eyes wide and curious as Tony and Pepper carried Peter into his bedroom.

"Tony, he's burning up," Pepper said, wiping the sweat from Peter's brow.

"I know," Tony replied, already undoing Peter's suit. When the suit was finally pulled away, all Tony could feel was the heat radiating through Peter's thin clothes. "We need to cool him down." He looked over at Pepper. "Compresses."

"And water," Pepper added, quickly breaking away. She paused. "Bath would probably be a good idea, too, but…" She met Tony's eyes. "I'm not sure how comfortable he'd feel if…"

"Yeah, yeah," Tony nodded quickly. "We'll just work with what we've got."

Pepper gave a quick nod before heading out of the room. Meanwhile, Tony shoved aside the heavier blankets. Then, careful not to disturb him, Tony laid Peter out on the bed. Peter instantly heaved out a breath, as though he had been holding it in for a long time. The next few breaths came out short and shallow, filling up the room like a heartbeat. Tony sat back down by the bed, watching Peter's chest rise and fall quickly—a steady rise and fall, at least, but again, moving faster than Tony would have liked.

"Mis'er Stark…" Peter's brow furrowed, and he rolled over on his side, this time facing Tony directly. Peter's entire body shook, more beads of sweat forming at his forehead. He curled inwards, as though to contain the quakes. "Mis'er…"

"Right here, Peter," Tony said quietly, resting a hand on top of Peter's shoulder, as though that could still the boy's fever shakes. He could feel Peter trembling underneath his touch, feel that same dry, painful heat coming off Peter's skin. "You're okay."

The sound of padding footsteps forced Tony to turn around, even though he already expected Pepper with the cold compress and glass of water.

"He doesn't look too good," Pepper whispered, handing the compress over to Tony. She set the glass of water on the nightstand. "Did you call May yet?"

"Not yet," Tony replied, feeling a flash of guilt. "I was going to."

"I'll do it," Pepper said, squeezing Tony's hand. "Right now, you just…" She nodded at Peter.

"Don't need to tell me twice," Tony said.

Pepper smiled. "I know," she said. "Let me know if you need anything."

Tony would have given Pepper a small salute if both of his hands were free, but with one hand in his wife's and the other still squeezing the cold compress, the best he could do was just nod. With a final, reassuring squeeze, Pepper left the room again.

Tony settled back down next to Peter and pressed the compress to his forehead. On contact, Peter let out a small sigh of relief, sinking deeper into the bed. Tony smiled grimly to himself. Well, at least _that _worked. He let himself relax just the slightest, only occasionally adjusting the compress whenever Peter shifted in his sleep.

And the kid moved a_ lot_ in his sleep—or, at least, more than Tony expected. Or maybe Peter just moved more in his sleep when he was sick. Either way, Peter went from his side to his back to his side in a span of a few seconds, and the fact that he was a shivering, sweating mess wasn't helping things, either.

Tony wished he could throw a heavier blanket on Peter—he did—but he also knew any added warmth could only raise the fever. So he just made sure the thinner blankets were at least tucked as tightly as they possibly could around Peter.

Tony moved to re-adjust the blankets when he felt a too-hot hand brush his wrist.

"Mis'er Stark?"

Tony glanced down to find Peter's brown eyes just barely cracking open. "Peter," Tony said, sitting back down. "You alright?"

Peter's eyes traveled from one side of the room to the other and then back to Tony's face. "Where…?" His voice was so weak and so soft that Tony had to lean forward just the slightest to catch what the boy was saying.

"You're back at the house," Tony said. "I figured it'd be a better idea to take you back here than your place. Just so Pepper and I could both get you rested up before May comes back."

Peter's eyes fluttered closed. "You didn't…" He let out a weak cough that quickly turned into a stronger cough that wracked his upper body. Alarmed, Tony quickly reached out to steady Peter, but the kid only pulled away, coughing into the crook of his elbow.

"Water," Tony said as soon as Peter caught his breath. He helped Peter sit up, supporting his back with a hand while tilting the water glass into Peter's mouth with the other. "Small sips, deep breaths." Tony caught some of the water dribbling past Peter's chin with a quick swipe of his finger. "Slow down, kid."

When Peter pulled away from the glass, Tony asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Dizzy," Peter mumbled. He leaned forward, the cold compress falling from his forehead and into his lap. "Dizzy," Peter repeated, as though he hadn't heard himself the first time, and he drew up his knees to rest his forehead against them. Then, almost as soon as forehead touched his knees, Peter whipped his head back up and said suddenly, "Bad guy."

"We took care of him," Tony assured Peter. "All you need to do is get some rest."

"But…" Peter blinked long and slow, as though his eyelids were heavy. "I can't."

"Sure you can," Tony said, picking up the cold compress. "Everyone rests."

"Superheroes don't," Peter mumbled as Tony gently pushed him back down to bed. "Can't. Missed too much."

"Missed too much?"

"Five years." The words came out of Peter more like a sigh than anything else, but Tony caught them. He knew Peter was right—how could he ignore the fact that this kid had missed out on _five whole years_ of his life?—but now Tony couldn't remember when was the last time Peter and he had actually sat down and _talked _about the absence in those five years. There hadn't been much to talk about, and Peter had been so eager to get back to Queens and see Aunt May and his friends and classmates (fine, maybe not his classmates) and his neighbors…

Tony noticed the small wrinkle in between Peter's eyebrows—a wrinkle that Tony had seen crop up a bit too often in his father's face and in his own face. A wrinkle formed out of stress (sometimes) and worry (always). The wrinkles on Tony's own face had become familiar to him, but seeing that severe indentation in Peter's face made Tony's heart clench. Something was wrong about that indentation on Peter's face. That indentation should not _be _there—not now. Not at the age of fifteen.

Tony smoothed a hand over Peter's forehead. He felt Peter stiffen under his touch, but then, as fast as the tension came, it left. Peter's lips parted just the barest, and the whisper of a breath just barely brushed past Tony's wrist.

"You're allowed to rest, kid," Tony murmured. "Trust me. The world can wait for their Spider-Man just a little longer."

* * *

**A/N: **I started writing this a long time ago, and even though my schedule is low-key hectic right now (I'm away on a trip!), I still somehow managed to finish this. (Also, yesterday was Tony's birthday, so...)

As always, comments/constructive criticism greatly appreciated!


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